Luz

Far from the luminous reaches of the Lightweaver's domain rests a yawning cavemouth, drowned by the near tangible shadows of The Hewn City. Standing on the edge of the hellfire scorched maw above, sounds of great beasts and sleeping gods can be heard stirring below. It is a cursed place. It is from another space and time, a cursed and cruel dimension that had become entangled with the world of Sornieth. Terrible monsters that came in the shapes of dragons are rumored to call this place home. With multiple sets of huge wings, amphibian eyes or lupine faces, teeth like serpents or paws like bears, the dragons that came from this cave were always different. There was a certain magic to the mystery that surrounded the dragons of Mothermouth, though, a morbid fascination always seemed to attract visitors against their better judgment.




A strange, seemingly endless landscape was laid out in the cavern. From the top of the entrance, huge dark seas of undisturbed, black water could be seen. Black and red grass pepper the strange ridges of the terrain, hugging the edges of twisted forests that grew tall despited the lack of sun. Looking at any of the twisted trees for too long would reveal that they were moving, writhing like blind limbs.




After passing through the unsettling and alien landscape, a grand city of black stone and golden light seems to grow from the red earth below. The buildings that lead up to it are seemingly abandoned, but on every balcony and porch there are floating, white-yellow lights that burn on the ends of oilslick colored branches sprouting from nothing.

The palace that rested ahead is a haunting and beautiful sight. It is built around the base of a gargantuan, obsidian wisteria tree. Periodically there is a great, crackling boom sounding from above, and a shower of large embers fall as one of the mature giant seed pods burst. Observing the tree for some time reveals that it glows with gentle, small flames that burn brightly on the ends of its limbs.





The entrance of the palace is open, and for the first time you spy shrouded figures looking back out. The only one not lurking in the shadows was a red and black dragon resting in a great twisted throne at the head of the room.



The voice that calls out to you is clear and ringing like a bell, but very clearly that of a male dragon. A pleasant, warm smell of campfire ash and incense eminates from the white smoke that lazily trails out of the wildclaw's nostrils. He has a tired face, kind and large yellow eyes that fall upon his visitor with no small amount of grace. Something seems off about his face, but it is difficult to place.





Dragons weren't supposed to burn. Everyone knew that. But when he laughs it is clear that his mouth indeed was full of bright, whitish flames. All around him other strange dragons appear, some with skeletal faces and burning golden eyes, and others with plantlike, dainty bodies that seem more serpentine than normal. They all share an aura of otherworldly powers, one that was is different than the magic of Sornieth. It is visceral, raw.